![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyvaderOk, I wrote a RPF a few weeks back, was going to post the second bit but felt sort of creepy & horrid after poor JGL’s brother passed so if this offends anyone then sorry but hopefully you guys will just enjoy it.
The first story can be found here
Title: Taste
Author: LadyVader
Archive: Always ask the author first please.
Pairing/s: JGL/TH
Category: RPS PWP
Summary: Joe gets a taste of precisely what he was really asking for when he sent Tom that vid message.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Semi Dub Con (is that dub dub con??)Strong Language & Sexual References & this is RPS - if you don't want to read about the real actors doing unreal things then DO NOT READ THIS.
Disclaimer: Joseph Gordon Levitt & Tom Hardy are AMAZING actors and doubtlessly awesome people, my brain just needed to make free with their fictional doppelgangers for a mo - PLEASE don't sue me, I promise its NOT worth your time.
Dedication: For Cheryl, who needs to stop encouraging me & just sit back & let me Incept her ;P
Taste:
It had been the longest day ever and it wasn’t even noon yet.
Joe sighed, repressing yet another shudder of muted horror/nausea.
They’d been running practice fights on the tumbler set all day, leaving Joe randomly suspended for several different alterations, angles and bloody hours of nothing but his own stupidity resounding deafeningly in his skull.
Tom was ALWAYS SOBER.
Tom ALWAYS checked his Phone when it went off, no matter what time.
Tom hadn’t said a WORD to him this morning – not at the coffee station, not when he’d laughed with him, Leo and Ken about Ellen’s strange, greenish tinge, not when Leo and Tom had watched the rough run-through, Joe scrabbling madly against walls, ceiling and floor whilst trying desperately to remember his choreographed moves, Tom’s quietly intense gaze burning through him at all times.
Tom, Joe had sadly reasoned, probably was not impressed.
He couldn’t trace his thought patterns now, recalling only the rush of narcissistic joy of perceiving his own body, flushed with heat and arousal, wanting to share it with the person who made him feel such odd hedonistic, exhibitionist urges – wanting Tom to watch him, look at him.
Filming it was probably not that huge of a mistake – hitting Send however...
Well. No matter the seemingly irresistible logic at the time, it’d been wrong and the embarrassment burns in Joe like a brand as he staggers to the food station for well deserved (but likely ill-advised) lunch break, to drop into his seat from 24 hours prior, when life had still been GOOD.
Ellen collapses across from him, dropping a plastic bag onto the table between them.
“You SO love me.” She beams, rummaging about within the plastic as he cocks a weary, if curious, eyebrow before abruptly producing two slightly dented but no less delicious-looking popsicles.
Joe’s jaw drops and her smile goes 100 watt. “Ice cream van came by. Cillian and I grabbed about 8 popsicles in each flavour – may I recommend Grape, for the slightly hung-over gentleman?”
He reached over to accept the proffered treat, smothering his smile into a more suitably serious expression. “I do love you.” He brandished the now unsheathed Popsicle dramatically, “But I love Grape more so sadly my dear it’s never to be!”
Her bright laughter made the pins behind his eyes stab a little more but it was the most positive he’d felt all day, so he withholds his wince, winking at her as he sucks distractedly at the frozen pole before choking.
Across the way, standing between a popsicle-clutching Dileep and roundly chuckling Ken, was Tom, his eyes fixed, hard and somehow furious, on the now sticky bow of Joe’s lips, his own mouth jerking into what appears to be some sort of snarl before he turns away, attention back on the now wildly gesticulating Ken.
Joe drops the Popsicle, still spluttering, attempting to smile apologetically at a somewhat bemused Ellen. “Brain freeze,” he manages to say, grimly, and cranks out a smile worthy of an Oscar.
+++
Forty-five minutes later and Joe already knows his day can’t get worse.
Tom and Leo had stalked over to the table to snag an iced lolly each, teasing Ellen and snarking over flavour choices before wandering off again. Tom had been funny, casual – himself. But he hadn’t looked at Joe once and addressed all his comments to the group before abruptly disappearing partway through Joe’s description (to Leo) of the harness shaped bruises he was forming in advance.
Joe wearily makes his way to the communal cast trailer, needing the clarity of a face full of cold water to wash the residual clinging sugary sweetness off his lips.
He steps into the small bathroom stall, just big enough for a small sink and mirror and a tiny shower unit for those desperate enough to use it between scenes, running the cold tap and repeatedly splashing his face until the outer numbness replaces the inner. Sighing and towelling his face off, he begins to open the door, only to find it, and himself, slammed backward into the wall.
“You.” Tom breathes with what looks like fury written across his face, from the bared teeth to his flared nostrils and burning eyes. He fists a hand in Joe’s shirt, holding him in place against the wall as he reaches back to shut the door, trapping them both in the tiny space. “You,” he repeats softly, grinding his body against Joe’s, “Are. Such. A Fucking. Tease.”
He slams their mouths together and although Joe’s kissed men before, made a practice of it, in fact, during his research for Mysterious Skin because he didn’t want to be that guy, the actor who played gay and had to relentlessly prove he was straight with every other waking breath, so he’d kissed men, for practice and in character; he’d read gay literature, watched gay porn, both soft and hardcore, and... none of this prepares him for kissing Tom.
His tongue is in Joe’s mouth, teeth clicking together, all hot breath, scratchy stubble and residual grape flavouring and Joe’s hands lift, fingers tapping at Tom’s jaw, shoulders, throat, hair, unable to settle on where to cling, squeeze, grip, tear...
Their lips separate with a ridiculous, slippery sound that Joe feels he’ll cringe over later, aware that momentarily their lips are still connected by saliva, each of their mouths now glossy red as Tom steps back, his fingers tight in Joe’s hair and he uses said grip to yank Joe forward then down, Joe’s knees buckling with pitiful ease as Tom uses a combination of will, strong grip and steady gaze to bear Joe to the floor.
It’s then that Joe notices what Tom’s other hand is doing.
His face flames, the blood boiling so immediately beneath his skin that he feels dizzy, the head-rush making him sway as he watches Tom jerk his fly open, yanking at his underwear before finally pulling his rigid cock out to point unerringly toward where Joe now kneels before him, the ruddy erect flesh angled at Joe’s gasping, parted lips and he thinks he feels Tom say it before the words actually reach his ears.
“Suck me.”
Joe feels a full body shake, that sort of taut quiver that extends up through his stomach, through his ribs, heart and head, like the tremors he used to feel back when he was still young enough to get stage fright, and he knows there are many things he could do or say that would make this, what’s about to happen NOT HAPPEN, but he says none of them, does none of them because he’s too busy opening his mouth and leaning in even as Tom drags his head forward and then...
Fuck.
Tom’s cock is thick and heavier than Joe could’ve imagined on his tongue; he’s panting past it, trying to get more than just the head into his mouth, and all the while Tom’s making tiny thrusts inward, only barely holding his hips from shoving deep, and the control there makes Joe moan, pulling off to briefly rest his head against Tom’s hip, breath rattling in his chest, and he feels Tom’s fingers stroking tiny circles on his scalp, behind his ear, the heat and thickness of him rubbing against one cheek as Joe turns his face back, mouth wet and open on the length, brain misfiring, fizzy with thoughts.
I’ve never done this I can’t do this I don’t know how but he wants me to and I want to SO FUCKING MUCH...
Joe twists his fingers into the material at Tom’s hips and lets his gaze slide upwards, past the thick and throbbing prick to the Brit’s dark and blurry gaze, his mouth open, panting harshly as he watches Joe lean back in, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he lets Tom’s cockhead catch and slide just over the edge of his lips.
Tom’s fingers tighten in his hair, one clutching hand dropping to grip gently at the base of his erection, steadying it as he slowly moves Joe forwards, the thickness and heat slipping straight into his mouth, over his tongue, just shy of triggering his gag reflex before the same clever fingers ease Joe back from where he’s now actually drooling, tongue pointed under the heat of Tom’s cock, face flushed and slack with sudden desperate yearning, and even as Tom pulls back Joe’s leaning forward again, shoving his mouth down in quick, sharp jabs, groaning as he hears Tom swearing loudly.
“Fuck, fuck yes, you utter shit – been wanting this since sodding 1am...”
Joe’s not listening; the blood’s rushing in his ears and for each tiny sound he unwittingly makes as Tom’s cock rams up against the back of his throat, another grunt of pure fucking ecstasy breaks free 'til all he can hear is his own stifled groans past the slick suction of his lips sliding back and forth, Tom’s hips jerking hard now, fingers too tight, so tight Joe’s eyes tear up but it doesn’t matter because with every stab forward Joe feels him go deeper, fucking his throat, his mouth, his lips (your bloody come-stained lips saying my name like you had no idea you were fucking chanting it you fucking tease, GOD Joe, you fucking TEASE) and it’s all Joe can do to not tear his hands from Tom’s hips and jerk his own fly open, to work his own damn cock, but instead he’s thrilling at the feel of Tom’s open zipper brushing against his lower lip, Tom’s words melting into almost sobs punctuated with his name roughly gasped and then... Oh.
The frantic pace stills for a beat as they each freeze, Joe’s knuckles white against Tom’s (EAMES’!) trousers, Tom whispering Jesus, Jesus in startled pants as they pause to let the sensation of Tom’s cock all the way down Joe’s throat sink in.
Tom eases back, his still rigid, thrumming cock almost clear when he slides back in again, his head slamming back into the bathroom wall as he groans, long and loud. Joe’s vision blurs at the edges as he runs out of air and pulls slowly, oh so slowly back up and all the way off again, pushing his face into Tom’s groin and shaking.
“FUCK.” He tries to moan but croaks instead, and each of their hips jerk at the sound of his ravaged voice box. He doesn’t know who moves first but he’s slamming his lips back down, sore now, his jaw cramping even as Tom steadies his head for yet more thrusting and, briefly, it’s war – Joe trying to suck harder at the flesh repeatedly slamming over his tongue, and Tom trying fuck his lips faster and faster, using his loose grip to jerk himself now, his fingers tightening, slipping against and into Joe’s mouth with every thrust, and now Joe’s using his teeth, resenting the intrusion, almost FURIOUS at the lack of depth now, only a few inches actually making it into his mouth, so he sucks harder, moans LOUDER, jerking his head faster than Tom’s shaking fingers can keep up with, and just as he manages to get Tom’s cock back down to the root, he feels it.
Tom bellows, his head slamming back against the wall, once, twice, three times before his body arches in extremis, the hand in Joe’s hair dropping to grip tightly at his nape, and then he’s coming, pulsing jet after jet of thick, hot come into Joe’s mouth and though he squawks at the amount, Joe tries to suck it all down, whimpering as he feels a lot of it escaping past his lips, down his chin, but he’s still working Tom’s cock because he doesn’t know how to stop and then he has stopped, has been stopped by Tom’s hands yanking him backward, Tom’s mouth slamming down onto his, Tom’s body as he crumples on top of him, pressing them both to the floor, panting and licking his come off Joe’s face, his tongue.
Joe comes then, almost an afterthought as his body belatedly recognises Tom’s thigh grinding up between his, and in barely two thrusts Joe’s pouring himself into his underwear, fingers tight, claw-like on Tom’s back, mouth open and desperate under Tom’s ridiculously soft lips, and before Joe’s really finished coming back around from what felt like a literal petit mort, Tom’s up on his feet, refastening Eames' trousers and smiling crookedly down at Joe, boneless before him, then letting himself out, leaving Joe alone and panting, stuck to his underwear.
Joe smiles, lips ravaged and sore.
His day is most DEFINITELY looking up.
Fin.
The first story can be found here
Title: Taste
Author: LadyVader
Archive: Always ask the author first please.
Pairing/s: JGL/TH
Category: RPS PWP
Summary: Joe gets a taste of precisely what he was really asking for when he sent Tom that vid message.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Semi Dub Con (is that dub dub con??)Strong Language & Sexual References & this is RPS - if you don't want to read about the real actors doing unreal things then DO NOT READ THIS.
Disclaimer: Joseph Gordon Levitt & Tom Hardy are AMAZING actors and doubtlessly awesome people, my brain just needed to make free with their fictional doppelgangers for a mo - PLEASE don't sue me, I promise its NOT worth your time.
Dedication: For Cheryl, who needs to stop encouraging me & just sit back & let me Incept her ;P
Taste:
It had been the longest day ever and it wasn’t even noon yet.
Joe sighed, repressing yet another shudder of muted horror/nausea.
They’d been running practice fights on the tumbler set all day, leaving Joe randomly suspended for several different alterations, angles and bloody hours of nothing but his own stupidity resounding deafeningly in his skull.
Tom was ALWAYS SOBER.
Tom ALWAYS checked his Phone when it went off, no matter what time.
Tom hadn’t said a WORD to him this morning – not at the coffee station, not when he’d laughed with him, Leo and Ken about Ellen’s strange, greenish tinge, not when Leo and Tom had watched the rough run-through, Joe scrabbling madly against walls, ceiling and floor whilst trying desperately to remember his choreographed moves, Tom’s quietly intense gaze burning through him at all times.
Tom, Joe had sadly reasoned, probably was not impressed.
He couldn’t trace his thought patterns now, recalling only the rush of narcissistic joy of perceiving his own body, flushed with heat and arousal, wanting to share it with the person who made him feel such odd hedonistic, exhibitionist urges – wanting Tom to watch him, look at him.
Filming it was probably not that huge of a mistake – hitting Send however...
Well. No matter the seemingly irresistible logic at the time, it’d been wrong and the embarrassment burns in Joe like a brand as he staggers to the food station for well deserved (but likely ill-advised) lunch break, to drop into his seat from 24 hours prior, when life had still been GOOD.
Ellen collapses across from him, dropping a plastic bag onto the table between them.
“You SO love me.” She beams, rummaging about within the plastic as he cocks a weary, if curious, eyebrow before abruptly producing two slightly dented but no less delicious-looking popsicles.
Joe’s jaw drops and her smile goes 100 watt. “Ice cream van came by. Cillian and I grabbed about 8 popsicles in each flavour – may I recommend Grape, for the slightly hung-over gentleman?”
He reached over to accept the proffered treat, smothering his smile into a more suitably serious expression. “I do love you.” He brandished the now unsheathed Popsicle dramatically, “But I love Grape more so sadly my dear it’s never to be!”
Her bright laughter made the pins behind his eyes stab a little more but it was the most positive he’d felt all day, so he withholds his wince, winking at her as he sucks distractedly at the frozen pole before choking.
Across the way, standing between a popsicle-clutching Dileep and roundly chuckling Ken, was Tom, his eyes fixed, hard and somehow furious, on the now sticky bow of Joe’s lips, his own mouth jerking into what appears to be some sort of snarl before he turns away, attention back on the now wildly gesticulating Ken.
Joe drops the Popsicle, still spluttering, attempting to smile apologetically at a somewhat bemused Ellen. “Brain freeze,” he manages to say, grimly, and cranks out a smile worthy of an Oscar.
+++
Forty-five minutes later and Joe already knows his day can’t get worse.
Tom and Leo had stalked over to the table to snag an iced lolly each, teasing Ellen and snarking over flavour choices before wandering off again. Tom had been funny, casual – himself. But he hadn’t looked at Joe once and addressed all his comments to the group before abruptly disappearing partway through Joe’s description (to Leo) of the harness shaped bruises he was forming in advance.
Joe wearily makes his way to the communal cast trailer, needing the clarity of a face full of cold water to wash the residual clinging sugary sweetness off his lips.
He steps into the small bathroom stall, just big enough for a small sink and mirror and a tiny shower unit for those desperate enough to use it between scenes, running the cold tap and repeatedly splashing his face until the outer numbness replaces the inner. Sighing and towelling his face off, he begins to open the door, only to find it, and himself, slammed backward into the wall.
“You.” Tom breathes with what looks like fury written across his face, from the bared teeth to his flared nostrils and burning eyes. He fists a hand in Joe’s shirt, holding him in place against the wall as he reaches back to shut the door, trapping them both in the tiny space. “You,” he repeats softly, grinding his body against Joe’s, “Are. Such. A Fucking. Tease.”
He slams their mouths together and although Joe’s kissed men before, made a practice of it, in fact, during his research for Mysterious Skin because he didn’t want to be that guy, the actor who played gay and had to relentlessly prove he was straight with every other waking breath, so he’d kissed men, for practice and in character; he’d read gay literature, watched gay porn, both soft and hardcore, and... none of this prepares him for kissing Tom.
His tongue is in Joe’s mouth, teeth clicking together, all hot breath, scratchy stubble and residual grape flavouring and Joe’s hands lift, fingers tapping at Tom’s jaw, shoulders, throat, hair, unable to settle on where to cling, squeeze, grip, tear...
Their lips separate with a ridiculous, slippery sound that Joe feels he’ll cringe over later, aware that momentarily their lips are still connected by saliva, each of their mouths now glossy red as Tom steps back, his fingers tight in Joe’s hair and he uses said grip to yank Joe forward then down, Joe’s knees buckling with pitiful ease as Tom uses a combination of will, strong grip and steady gaze to bear Joe to the floor.
It’s then that Joe notices what Tom’s other hand is doing.
His face flames, the blood boiling so immediately beneath his skin that he feels dizzy, the head-rush making him sway as he watches Tom jerk his fly open, yanking at his underwear before finally pulling his rigid cock out to point unerringly toward where Joe now kneels before him, the ruddy erect flesh angled at Joe’s gasping, parted lips and he thinks he feels Tom say it before the words actually reach his ears.
“Suck me.”
Joe feels a full body shake, that sort of taut quiver that extends up through his stomach, through his ribs, heart and head, like the tremors he used to feel back when he was still young enough to get stage fright, and he knows there are many things he could do or say that would make this, what’s about to happen NOT HAPPEN, but he says none of them, does none of them because he’s too busy opening his mouth and leaning in even as Tom drags his head forward and then...
Fuck.
Tom’s cock is thick and heavier than Joe could’ve imagined on his tongue; he’s panting past it, trying to get more than just the head into his mouth, and all the while Tom’s making tiny thrusts inward, only barely holding his hips from shoving deep, and the control there makes Joe moan, pulling off to briefly rest his head against Tom’s hip, breath rattling in his chest, and he feels Tom’s fingers stroking tiny circles on his scalp, behind his ear, the heat and thickness of him rubbing against one cheek as Joe turns his face back, mouth wet and open on the length, brain misfiring, fizzy with thoughts.
I’ve never done this I can’t do this I don’t know how but he wants me to and I want to SO FUCKING MUCH...
Joe twists his fingers into the material at Tom’s hips and lets his gaze slide upwards, past the thick and throbbing prick to the Brit’s dark and blurry gaze, his mouth open, panting harshly as he watches Joe lean back in, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he lets Tom’s cockhead catch and slide just over the edge of his lips.
Tom’s fingers tighten in his hair, one clutching hand dropping to grip gently at the base of his erection, steadying it as he slowly moves Joe forwards, the thickness and heat slipping straight into his mouth, over his tongue, just shy of triggering his gag reflex before the same clever fingers ease Joe back from where he’s now actually drooling, tongue pointed under the heat of Tom’s cock, face flushed and slack with sudden desperate yearning, and even as Tom pulls back Joe’s leaning forward again, shoving his mouth down in quick, sharp jabs, groaning as he hears Tom swearing loudly.
“Fuck, fuck yes, you utter shit – been wanting this since sodding 1am...”
Joe’s not listening; the blood’s rushing in his ears and for each tiny sound he unwittingly makes as Tom’s cock rams up against the back of his throat, another grunt of pure fucking ecstasy breaks free 'til all he can hear is his own stifled groans past the slick suction of his lips sliding back and forth, Tom’s hips jerking hard now, fingers too tight, so tight Joe’s eyes tear up but it doesn’t matter because with every stab forward Joe feels him go deeper, fucking his throat, his mouth, his lips (your bloody come-stained lips saying my name like you had no idea you were fucking chanting it you fucking tease, GOD Joe, you fucking TEASE) and it’s all Joe can do to not tear his hands from Tom’s hips and jerk his own fly open, to work his own damn cock, but instead he’s thrilling at the feel of Tom’s open zipper brushing against his lower lip, Tom’s words melting into almost sobs punctuated with his name roughly gasped and then... Oh.
The frantic pace stills for a beat as they each freeze, Joe’s knuckles white against Tom’s (EAMES’!) trousers, Tom whispering Jesus, Jesus in startled pants as they pause to let the sensation of Tom’s cock all the way down Joe’s throat sink in.
Tom eases back, his still rigid, thrumming cock almost clear when he slides back in again, his head slamming back into the bathroom wall as he groans, long and loud. Joe’s vision blurs at the edges as he runs out of air and pulls slowly, oh so slowly back up and all the way off again, pushing his face into Tom’s groin and shaking.
“FUCK.” He tries to moan but croaks instead, and each of their hips jerk at the sound of his ravaged voice box. He doesn’t know who moves first but he’s slamming his lips back down, sore now, his jaw cramping even as Tom steadies his head for yet more thrusting and, briefly, it’s war – Joe trying to suck harder at the flesh repeatedly slamming over his tongue, and Tom trying fuck his lips faster and faster, using his loose grip to jerk himself now, his fingers tightening, slipping against and into Joe’s mouth with every thrust, and now Joe’s using his teeth, resenting the intrusion, almost FURIOUS at the lack of depth now, only a few inches actually making it into his mouth, so he sucks harder, moans LOUDER, jerking his head faster than Tom’s shaking fingers can keep up with, and just as he manages to get Tom’s cock back down to the root, he feels it.
Tom bellows, his head slamming back against the wall, once, twice, three times before his body arches in extremis, the hand in Joe’s hair dropping to grip tightly at his nape, and then he’s coming, pulsing jet after jet of thick, hot come into Joe’s mouth and though he squawks at the amount, Joe tries to suck it all down, whimpering as he feels a lot of it escaping past his lips, down his chin, but he’s still working Tom’s cock because he doesn’t know how to stop and then he has stopped, has been stopped by Tom’s hands yanking him backward, Tom’s mouth slamming down onto his, Tom’s body as he crumples on top of him, pressing them both to the floor, panting and licking his come off Joe’s face, his tongue.
Joe comes then, almost an afterthought as his body belatedly recognises Tom’s thigh grinding up between his, and in barely two thrusts Joe’s pouring himself into his underwear, fingers tight, claw-like on Tom’s back, mouth open and desperate under Tom’s ridiculously soft lips, and before Joe’s really finished coming back around from what felt like a literal petit mort, Tom’s up on his feet, refastening Eames' trousers and smiling crookedly down at Joe, boneless before him, then letting himself out, leaving Joe alone and panting, stuck to his underwear.
Joe smiles, lips ravaged and sore.
His day is most DEFINITELY looking up.
Fin.
